


Feelings Are Inconvenient, a Monograph Composed in One Part by Varric Tethras, Humble Teller of Tales

by spookykingdomstarlight



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, Inquisitor Hawke (Dragon Age), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-06 02:41:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20284054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookykingdomstarlight/pseuds/spookykingdomstarlight
Summary: Sighing, disgusted and put-upon, Hawke curled upright and twisted around with more elegance than he had any right to possess. Sitting correctly, he leaned forward and smiled. “You could write naughty things about me at the very least,” he said. “If I’m stuck doing this job for however long until we win, the world deserves to know just how good I am and how much they don’t deserve me and my prowess.”





	Feelings Are Inconvenient, a Monograph Composed in One Part by Varric Tethras, Humble Teller of Tales

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saisei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saisei/gifts).

“Do you think if I just… cut my arm off, it’ll solve all my problems?” Hawke asked, considering. He flexed his fingers and then tightened his hand into a fist. “The light show is kind of cool, but the rest of it is a bit of a drag. It was bad enough when everyone in Kirkwall expected me to fix everything. Now I’ve got Orlais and Ferelden crying for help and I’m the least qualified person in the world to give it.”

Varric scoffed, tossing his quill somewhere in the vicinity of the ink bottle, utterly unconcerned that it was dripping said ink all over the desk Hawke refused to acknowledge as his even though it stood in his quarters. If he was feeling sentimental, he’d suppose this was what made them such a great team. As long as Hawke hated being the kind of person who had a desk, Varric could take advantage of it. And it was a nice desk, very sturdy, good for things other than writing when Hawke wasn’t in a fit of pique about the Inquisition and his duties within its increasingly complex bureaucratic structures. “Who is it you’re meeting with today?”

“Seriously, I’m reasonably sure Solas would love to have it. Between him and Dorian, they could make sure it was still able to close rifts and I could just—”

“That’s disgusting and also they’d kill one another inside of five minutes and you and I both know it.” Turning, he hooked his arm around the back of the chair, a bit of a stretch for him, but less of one than if Hawke hadn’t gone through the trouble of finding a chair that was more suitable to Varric’s tastes than the one that had been built for this desk. Hawke, utterly shameless and lacking in anything remotely approaching dignity, was half hanging off the bed, staring at Varric’s ass while his head almost touched the floor, his hair long enough to skim across the rug-clad stone. His face was flushed and Varric had no idea how long he’d been in this position.

“But Sera said she could get me a grappling hook. How cool would that be? And useful, too. Then someone better suited to this position could take over and I can retire to Antiva and drink all day. You could come with me. It’d be so much lovelier than this.” He gestured extravagantly. “For example, we wouldn’t have to worry about the political implications of the drapes I choose to hang in my quarters, like I would ever take something like drapes that seriously. I found these in a cave outside of Crestwood. What do I care about whether the Orlesians think I’m going to ally with the Avaar or whatever nonsense they’re believing about me today because I might slightly prefer these to some other drapes that are functionally the same only uglier?”

“I already don’t have to worry about that,” Varric pointed out. He didn’t point out the other fly in this particular ointment either: that Hawke was secretly a control freak do-gooder and didn’t actually trust anyone else to have Thedas’s best interests at heart. They had this conversation at least five times a month and it was only due to Varric’s massive and perhaps misguided affection for Hawke that he suffered through it so often. Besides, Hawke would feel guilty if he didn’t do everything in his power to defeat Corypheus and they both knew it. “I couldn’t care less about the drapes.”

“That is exactly what I’m saying here,” Hawke said, earnest. “The drapes don’t matter. Us retiring to Antiva? That, on the other hand, matters a great deal to me.”

It was a nice dream. And Varric would happily indulge it. But only when the time came. And it would, he was certain.

Hawke, unfortunately, was a victim of his own success. He might have styled himself a rogue and reprobate, but he was a good man, and that kind of morality rubbed off on people. Which meant that Varric, who once considered himself among the most roguish of them all, now considered himself obligated to help in whatever way he could. He might not have been Hawke and he didn’t have a rift-closing wound on his palm, but he had Bianca and a quill with which to excoriate their enemies and uplift their friends. If that was all he had, he’d dedicate it to the cause regardless.

Sighing, disgusted and put-upon, Hawke curled upright and twisted around with more elegance than he had any right to possess. Sitting correctly, he leaned forward and smiled. “You could write naughty things about me at the very least,” he said. “If I’m stuck doing this job for however long until we win, the world deserves to know just how good I am and how much they don’t deserve me and my prowess.”

“I think I’ll reserve those words for my private collection, thank you,” Varric cautioned. “The naughty ones anyway. I suppose I could put a good word in for you on the being a responsible leader front. Might be a stretch, but I’m not a fiction writer for nothing.”

Hawke climbed to his feet and crossed the room to offer Varric a kiss. Then he mussed Varric’s hair for good measure, because he never met an opportunity he couldn’t add a dose of obnoxiousness to. “Aww, Varric. You do care. My hero.”

Varric swatted him away and fought down a blush as best he could. He did so hate it when Hawke managed to strike a feeling in him. Always made things a bit uncomfortable. “Don’t let it get out,” he said, pushing at Hawke’s forehead. “Don’t you have Inquisition business to get ready for?”

“I guess so,” Hawke admitted, reluctant, “but I’d rather stick it out here with you.”

“I’ll be here when you get back,” Varric said, wishing for exactly the same thing and wishing he wasn’t wishing for it, “and I’ll even do that thing you like just to make up for it.”

At least it was Hawke’s turn to flush. Well, flush more darkly than he already was given the blood still pooled in his face from his earlier adventure in sitting wrong on the bed. Voice going husky, he kissed Varric again and spoke against his lips. “You’re too good to me, Varric.”

_I’m only as good as I want to be_, Varric thought, but didn’t say. There were some things even he didn’t particularly want to admit to. Besides, Hawke would be insufferable if he knew just how much Varric liked making him happy. It wasn’t even that he’d be smug, it was just that Varric could already imagine the slightly wounded vulnerability Hawke would express at such an admission. He wasn’t very good at acknowledging that there were people around who cared about him and Varric was used to letting his cooler head prevail anyway. “Yeah, yeah,” he said instead, jovial, much more their speed. “Don’t let it get around.”

If once Hawke returned, a little bruised around the eyes and looking more exhausted than Varric had ever seen, he did the thing Hawke liked and the other thing he liked even more, he didn’t have to say anything at all to get his meaning across because Hawke thanked him in return by doing that thing Varric liked and all was well without any words being exchanged at all.

They really were, in Varric’s opinion, the best team.

And, when the time came, Corypheus really would not know what hit him.


End file.
